


the growing-up game.

by chibijelly



Category: Evil Dead (2013), Evil Dead (Movies), Evil Dead - All Media Types
Genre: College, Family Fluff, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibijelly/pseuds/chibijelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once she hits college, Mia's life is a downward spiral. Once she gets married, she realizes she's done a lot of growing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the growing-up game.

1.

Enroll in college and it's a piece of cake to find yourself swept up in various extra-curricular activities. Declare yourself an art major and it's even easier to find time to waste, especially when the dreaded artist's block kicks in. No one can work on portfolios all the time, right? This whole set up—it's far too tempting, much too convenient for an unsuspecting freshman with non-existent time management skills. There are plenty of things to do and people to see when you're not in Flint, and Mia's not one to miss out on opportunity when it comes banging on her door.

She doesn't live on campus. She really can't afford to. There's only so much financial aid can cover, and she feels bad for taking advantage. Student loans? Who wants to deal with those? Not her; not now. Michigan State is close enough to home to commute a few times a week, and the acquaintances she begins making in the studios during her first semester are enough motivation to ask to use the car more often.

There are plenty of places to go on and around campus, lots of parties to randomly show up at during the course of a weekend. Sometimes she even finds herself making the trek to Detroit for the evening, either driving her new friends or tagging along in someone else's backseat, absentmindedly flicking cigarette ashes out the window on the freeways between laughter and conversation and sing-alongs with the radio.

She's been to the few dingy clubs in and around Flint before, the countless number of basement parties. Having a brother in a fledgling rock band had its perks like that—unlimited red cups of booze, cans of PBR, the occasional joint. But now that the Darkmans are kaput and David is straying, she has to find other ways of entertaining herself. Without him. Without his friends.

She was always quiet around David and the gang, the cute little sister in pigtails and baggy clothes. Y'know—the artsy one. Always doodling something on scrap bits of paper or napkins. The first time she hung out with them at a gig, she drank too much and Eric wound up holding her hair back while she puked everything up into the toilet. Remember that? It was pretty funny.

But now she's not in high school anymore. No sir. She can handle her alcohol and she's comfortable enough in her own skin to wear skirts and leave hardly anything to the imagination, to change her hair whenever she wants to and not think twice of what others think. She can throw back shots like water, bat her lashes and not have to pay for anything if she's lucky—which she almost always is.

She's a smart girl, but not that well-versed in the ways of the world. Yeah, so she smokes cigarettes once in a while. It's not like she's a chain smoker. She can quit whenever she wants. It's not going to make a difference. 

Okay, and if there's weed around, maybe she'll treat herself. A joint every now and then doesn't mean she has a problem. It mellows her out, helps her de-stress, and leaves her deluded—thoroughly convinced she's thinking clearly.

The weekend flings in Detroit start becoming more and more frequent. The crowd that adopts her suggests she try newer and newer things. A tab of whatever here, an ounce of some dust there. Just snort this, it'll be rad. Be sure not to mix those with Bud if you know what's good for you. It's all experimental. It's not like it's going to matter. She's young, she can say no whenever she wants. It's all a part of the Growing-Up Game.

She makes it halfway through school, her grade point average barely hanging on between all the partying and the boys and the girls. Then her mother is barely hanging on, and everything else starts slipping through her fingers accordingly. 

Her twentieth birthday comes and goes, and she's not showing up to class. She's placed on academic probation, but she doesn't even bother checking in or seeing a counselor to formulate a plan of action. Art will never get her anywhere anyway. There's no steady work in it. And why should she even bother? She doesn't have the time. Instead she takes her mother from one doctor's appointment to the next to the next. 

Her brother doesn't answer the phone anymore, not when she's crying for help on her end, not when she just wants to say hi. Sometimes she gets a text, but it's horribly impersonal. He's just too busy for her now, too busy for his one and only mother. When she's lucky—or when she's just fed up enough to—she storms out of the house and leaves her mother in bed, setting out to occupy herself just for a few hours, to lose herself in the drinking and the dancing and the needles.

A few hours turns into the whole night most times, and she usually wakes up anywhere else but home. It's either a stranger's bed or a sofa or the floor, and gathering her clothes turns into an aggravating scavenger hunt she would prefer to deal without. On a few occasions she staggers through the front door as the sun's rising. Every time, no matter what, as soon as she crosses the welcome mat, she comes face to face with the horrible reality that is her existence. She can't take care of her mother anymore, not with this reckless lifestyle, not with this lack of patience. She's too cool for this, has better things to do. Why can't David do this instead? Why does she have to deal? It's because she's the baby isn't it?

She's not the baby anymore. Not when she's making the adult decision and picking up the phone. Not when she's having someone else take care of her sick mother problem. She knows what she needs to block out her mother's pathetic cries, her hopeful attempts at getting her daughter to take her home because she doesn't want to be locked up here without her.

She flirts, she assesses, she moves on—just like a bee from flower to flower. She doesn't have real friends anymore. If you aren't holding, you mean nothing. A total waste of space. There's only so much you can do with pocket money, so she has to improvise. Anything to score that warm escape she oh so needs coursing through her tired veins.

At least until the insurance money starts coming in. Then it's a completely different story.

2.

“You were a wild one weren't you?”

“Well. No. Not exactly. I mean—”

“Yeah you were! It was all sex, drugs, and rock n' roll, I just _know it_. Don't lie to me, party girl.”

His little comment makes her roll her eyes. They threaten to fall right out of her head. 

He _is_ right, though. Well—sorta. Basically. For the most part.

Okay – maybe she's guilty on all three counts. But it's not like she wants to admit it. Not anymore, anyway. She's traded being young and dumb for still-sorta-young and wife-and-mother-of-one.

“I don't think this is the best conversation to have around Aims,” she replies flatly, gesturing with a slight nod of her head to the armful of baby she's carrying as she paces back and forth across the linoleum floor. Little Amy is oblivious to the topic of discussion, far too preoccupied with making scrunchy, annoyed faces at the awkward burping pats her mother is giving her.

“She's just a _baby_ , Mi,” he counters with a slight snort, glancing over his shoulder. He shuts off the faucet. He _definitely_ deserves a mini-break from after-dinner clean-up duty—or so he thinks. Too much water is bad for his hand, and he needs to remember to pick up more WD-40 from work. They really need to save up for an actual washer one of these days. Maybe when S-Mart has their annual home appliance blowout? 

He dries off a bit, casually tossing the towel on the counter when he's done. Then he leans back against the edge, folding his arms as he looks at his wife. 

“Do you honestly think she'd understand?” he asks, trying not to chuckle.

“She's more intelligent than you give her credit for okay.”

“Then she'll make the right decision _not_ to follow in Mommy's footsteps when she's older,” he says with a sharp nod. And then, of course, he adds: “If she knows what's good for her.”

That makes Mia shake her head and smile. She can't help it. 

Little Amy burps, and Mia stops wandering about the kitchen for a brief moment to carefully dab at her mouth. “That's a good girl,” she coos. Then she gently rubs at her daughter's back, leaning in to whisper. “You better stay this well-behaved forever. Or else – you heard Daddy. He means what he said, okay?”

Amy giggles and swats at her with pudgy little hands. In baby talk? That means she thinks Ash is a joke.

“Oh she heard me alright,” he comments, blissfully unaware of his daughter's _true_ opinion. “Go sit down, babe. Let me take her for a bit.”

He doesn't have to tell her twice. As soon as the offer leaves his lips, Mia is unceremoniously handing the baby over for him to deal with, and then she's collapsing on the sofa in the next room. She still has to give Amy a bath and get her ready to bed before passing out herself for the night, but she tries not to worry about it and just focuses on how good it feels to sit and crack her back instead. Does she have work in the morning? She might. Ugh, but she's already sitting down and the calendar is on the fridge _all the way over there_...

“Are you _sure_ you don't want to go out this week?” Ash asks her, wandering in to the TV room to join her. “Or next week? Or – any time, really? You deserve a hot date. Y'know – dinner. A movie. Some dancing? Or maybe we could just skip all the formalities and head straight for the--”

He interrupts her train of thought, and once she realizes what he's talking about, she waves her good hand at him dismissively before shutting her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “No. _No_. Ash. Out of the question. It's real sweet of you and everything, but – she's still too young. I wouldn't feel okay with it. Not now.”

“She'll be with _my parents_ , hon. They're not that bad. I turned out alright didn't I?”

Mia's eyes widen and she opens her mouth to answer, but he shoots her a look. She thinks better of saying what's on her mind, and just smiles instead. Time to change the subject before she accidentally makes him pout lamely for the rest of the evening, a thing she tends to do quite often.

"What's with this obsession of yours anyway? Wanting to get me back on the club scene. You know I wouldn't fit in anymore." 

"'Course you would. Don't say that." 

"Uh – no? Not really. I dunno 'bout you, babe, but I _kinda_ did a whole lot of growing up. I have a kid at home to worry about. Not class the next morning. I can't just stay out until the sun comes up drinking myself to oblivion. Or worse.” 

"Wow. My very own milf." 

" _Ashley_."

Clearly he's not paying attention to her while she speaks.

“ _What_?” he nearly whines. “I never got the chance to see you get down and dirty. I think that'd be _hot_.”

“Of course you do. Do _you_ wanna be the one givin' her her bath? Because that's the road you're headin' down right now, Mister.” 

She looks up at him from her spot on the sofa, arms crossed over her chest, waiting to hear the correct answer.

He scowls, momentarily distracted by how his daughter is gumming at his metal thumb. “Hey now, a man can dream alright?”

“And you're gonna _keep_ dreaming,” she adds, picking herself up from her seat. “I'll go start the bath, okay?”

She pads across the carpet, heading toward the bathroom, and stops before she disappears down the hall, turning on her heel to shoot her husband one of those _sneaky_ smiles of hers. One that means _business_. “You take care of the rest. And then I'll be sure to take care of _you_. Sound good?”

“Yes _ma'am_.”

“ _Good_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even going to pretend I know the first thing about Michigan geography or colleges. Never in my life have I even left the East Coast. I tried doing some reference beforehand and then decided to wing it. My apologies for messing it up.


End file.
